Summary: Katniss lives in a canonverse AU where the citizens of Panem are subjected to grinding poverty, oppression, and the constant threat of war with the North. When Katniss decides to disguise herself as a man so she can secretly volunteer for her beloved 12-year-old brother, Sage, will she finally discover who she truly is—and who she truly loves? Eventual Everlark somewhat based on Disney's version of Mulan and the various "Mulan" legends and folk tales; written for the THG Fairy Tale Fic Challenge.
Story Title: A Girl Worth Fighting For
Story Rating: Teen
Relationships: Everlark
Warnings: Mild swearing, combat violence, verbal and physical abuse
Fairytale story is adapted from: The Mulan legends/folk tales
Complete or Work in Progress: WiP
A/N: I know this doesn't technically fit the description of a fairy tale, but I have read of Mulan stories being referred to as legends and folk tales. I read some of the fairy tales on the list and tried to convince myself that those were the ones I wanted to do, but then I realized the ridiculousness of worrying about playing strictly by the rules when writing a Hunger Games fanfic. Besides, all of the fairy tales I considered doing were well covered by other, more talented writers in the fandom, so I'm glad I didn't do them. So this story is a mix of Disney's version of the Mulan legends, multiple varieties of those legends, and The Hunger Games. I'm not entirely sure where this is going, when I'll post more, or when, exactly, I'll finish this; were it not for the challenge deadline, this wouldn't have seen the light of day for months. I don't own The Hunger Games, the Mulan legends/folk tales, or any of the various quotes I use throughout the story.
Katniss ran through the woods, keeping a steady, even pace like her father had instructed her to years ago.
"It's like building a cooking fire, Katniss," she remembered him saying. "You want to build a fire that will burn down to coals that are hot enough to cook your meat all the way through but that are not so hot that they will sear and burn your hard-earned catch."
The bittersweet memory made Katniss's heart catch, but her even pace never faltered. She never tired of running this circuit around her lake—at least not mentally. Her muscles were nearing the point of exhaustion, but she knew that she was close to reaching her goal. As if she had summoned its presence by mere thought, the Hanging Tree came into view as she rounded the last bend of her wild course.
She sprinted the final distance before slowing to a halt in front of the enormous, sprawling oak tree. Luxuriating in the shade provided by the seemingly ancient oak, Katniss instinctively bent over as her breath rasped in and out of her mouth. Her father's voice came back to her again, training once again overriding instinct.
"Don't bend over when you're trying to catch your breath, Katniss; that will only make breathing harder. Lace your fingers together and put them on top of your head instead so that you'll be able to take bigger breaths."
Katniss tipped her head back and placed her hands on her head, looking up at her full game bag hanging in the branches of the tree. Her father had discovered long ago that this particular tree was a great place to hang game in order to keep it out of the paws and jaws of hungry animals, so he took to calling it the Hanging Tree after the one in the song. He also later discovered that it had a particular branch that was perfect for doing chin-ups, completing the Hanging Tree image.
True, Katniss and her father knew that they could have simply kept the game in the little cabin on the other side of the lake, but neither of them usually wanted to spend any more time inside than was necessary.
"Besides," her father had said, "Climbing trees is good exercise."
This place made Katniss miss her father terribly, but this was also the place where she felt his presence the strongest. She continued to practice the exercises he had taught her in order to fulfill the promise she'd made to him long ago, but she also did them because they made her feel closer to her father's memory.
"Katniss, we've all heard the rumors and know what will likely happen."
"We don't know anything for sure, Daddy. Maybe everyone is wrong."
"Maybe so, but we're going to be prepared. We could be called up to war tomorrow, next month, or next year. I might have time to teach you everything I know, or I might only be able to teach you how to run all the way around the lake without giving up and jumping in. Regardless of how many skills I manage to teach you, you must remember one thing: You can fight back.
"If Snow's foolishness gets us men killed, then it is going to be up to you women to protect the districts from the North. Starting tomorrow, I'm going to teach you how to defend yourself, how to fight back, and, most importantly, how to escape so you can live to fight another day. No matter what happens to me, Katniss, you must promise that you will always take care of Mommy and Sage; they are not fighters like we are, although they do have their own strengths."
"I promise, Daddy," Katniss whispered to the Hanging Tree as she jumped up and clasped the low-hanging branch she and her father had used for chin-ups. She had gotten quite good at them and had developed decent upper-body strength.
Well, at least I'm as strong as a malnourished Seam brat can be…
Katniss did a few more of her father's exercises before she stripped off her clothes and slung them over the chin-up branch. She walked down to the water's edge and stopped, analyzing her reflection in the water. A scowl pinched her face as she looked herself over; she doubted that Effie Trinket would be terribly impressed, much less any boy.
She shrugged and undid her braid, running her fingers through her hair so that it would be able to float loosely around her. Had there been any chance of anyone seeing her, she would've been more self-conscious, but the only living people who knew about the lake were her mother, Sage, and Gale, and all of them were busy with their own activities.
Besides, it's not like I'd really care if any of them saw me naked, Katniss mused as she blissfully floated on the water's surface. Mom saw me naked when I was born, Sage is my brother, and Gale may as well be. I mean, it's not like he hasn't seen me naked the numerous other times we've swam here…
Katniss luxuriated in the feel of the water cocooning her body, even if it was a little too cold still for swimming. Her body was warm from exercising, and not even her father had been able to stop her from swimming—or doing anything else she wanted to do. She contemplated doing more of her father's exercises after finishing her swim, but she couldn't muster up any enthusiasm for getting out of the water.
Those exercises are meant to do with another person, anyway, specifically one who is bigger than I am. No; I'll have to wait for Gale to have free time before we can practice our self-defense moves again.
Reluctantly acknowledging the sun's message that it was time to get out of the water, Katniss made her way to shore. She wrung the water out of her dark hair as best as she could before running her fingers through it to give it a chance to air-dry. The chilly water had cooled Katniss's body down, so she was more aware of the lingering chill in the air as she toweled off with an old scrap of clothing she'd saved for that purpose.
Quickly pulling her clothes off of the chin-up branch, she wasted no time in putting them on. She hastily braided her hair, knowing that there was a good chance that it wouldn't be dry by time she climbed under the fence to get back into District 12. That was a risk she was willing to take, however, as the seemingly ever-present feeling of foreboding compelled her to make her way back home to her family.
She scrabbled up the tree, grabbed her bulging game bag, snagged her bow, and began the trek back to District 12 without looking back at the lake.
Her lake felt like a distant memory as she slouched down further in her chair as Effie Trinket chattered on and on about the Treaty of the Treason. The delightful Ms. Trinket paid a visit to the assembled 15-18-year-old girls of District 12 a couple of times a year, and—as far as Katniss could tell—her lessons always lasted about the same length of time and covered the same basic areas. Effie was currently nattering on about why Capitol citizens got to have everything they wanted while the district people lived in squalor under constant threat of starvation.
Dark Days…rebellion…blah, blah, blah…Crap that happened generations ago…our duty to Panem…yada, yada, yada…fight to preserve Panem's borders against the North…Snow's an idiot who's going to get us all killed…oh, wait; that was actually my thought…
"…time to talk about the responsibilities all women of Panem bear," Effie said, snapping Katniss out of her boredom-induced stupor.
Katniss remembered this part of Effie's spiel from her last visit, and she doubted that she was going to like it any better this time through. She knew she had to pay attention, though; how else was she going to find a loophole, a way out?
"As I'm sure you are all aware, Panem's population is dangerously low."
Because President Snow insists on going to war every five years or so, which kills off all our men, Katniss mentally added.
"This population crisis makes a woman's responsibilities all the more important as it is her place, her purpose, to help repopulate Panem by raising as many children as she can."
So they can either go off to war when they're 12 or older and get slaughtered by Northern troops or give birth to sons of their own who will go off to war when they're 12 or older and get slaughtered by Northern troops.
"Women are also to ensure that their men are comfortable and well cared for so that the men will be able to live happy and productive lives."
Or lie dead in the district cemetery like my father because they died in one of Snow's stupid wars.
"A woman is to be married when she achieves majority at the age of 19 so that she will be able to take advantage of her prime child-bearing years."
Which I will spend scraping together enough to make ends meet for my mother and brother; forget having a husband.
"Any woman who is not married by the end of the month in which she turns 19 will immediately begin paying a caelebs tax and will continue to pay such a tax monthly until she is wed."
Unless she is smart enough to come up with a way to get out of doing such a thing, which I…well, I'm working on it.
"Women are also encouraged to have vocations so long as their jobs do not interfere with their abilities to care for their families; fighting in combat is, of course, forbidden due to a woman's lack of suitability for the activity and for Panem's population's inability to sustain itself without child-bearers."
Because starvation and losing our men to war are much better alternatives.
"Any woman caught trying to sneak into the military or—as unlikely a scenario as it may be—is actually caught during or after combat will either be immediately executed or—if the Capitol is feeling particularly merciful—assigned a husband that will help her fulfill her duty to Panem."
I would eat a handful of nightlock berries before I would ever let the Capitol make me into a whore. Of course, if I defied the Capitol, then they would likely kill my mother, Sage, and maybe even the Hawthornes, so…"
"Everdeen!" Katniss heard, startling her out of her dark musings.
"Katniss Everdeen!" Effie Trinket said impatiently. "This is the third time I've called your name, and we really must stay on schedule. Please come to the front of the assembly."
Katniss understood what her prey likely felt in that instant between the sound of her bowstring snapping and the impact of the arrow in its eye; she knew that there was no possible way that this was going to end well, and that there might even be bloodshed. Reluctantly, she stood up from her chair and made her way to the aisle of the assembly, her feet feeling like lead.
How could I have forgotten this part of Trinket's visits? She always draws a name from a large glass ball and calls the lucky girl to the front of the room for ridiculous Capitol lessons on how to get a husband. Effie thinks she's a great matchmaker, but I don't know of anyone who has ever benefitted from her dating advice.
"Ms. Everdeen, perhaps you would benefit from not striding down the aisle as if you were on your way to the mines. Chin up; smile on. Well, dear, I guess that will have to do."
Katniss's shoulders were back, her chin was up, and her face probably wore the same expression she remembered seeing on Gale's face once when he was trying to charm his girlfriend of the week's mother out of punishing her daughter for getting caught with Gale at the slag heap. Gale had not known Katniss had been watching until later, but her imitation of what Gale had surely considered to be a charming, smooth smile was not as amusing to him as it had been to her. The memory prompted Katniss to smile and to temporarily forget about her upcoming humiliation.
"That's the smile, Ms. Everdeen! Young men like to court nice, happy young women who do not scowl and stomp about as they are walking down the street. Now that we have your posture and expression remedied, we need to work on our opening conversation. Approach me as if we are meeting at a dinner party…closer, please, Ms. Everdeen! You do not want your young man to think that you are uninterested in him."
Sorry I don't have any experience attending dinner parties in the Seam.
"Like this, Ms. Trinket?" Katniss said, vowing to give this a try in order to stay out of trouble for the good of her family.
"I suppose that will do, Ms. Everdeen, although you really do need to remember to smile. Of course, you are going to have to do more than smile to get a husband; in fact, you are first going to have to get the young man interested in you in the first place. Okay, Ms. Everdeen; pretend I am a handsome young man who has walked up to you at a dinner party."
Oh, this should be easy.
"Hello, Ms. Everdeen," Effie Trinket said in the least masculine imitation of a male voice Katniss had ever heard. "Now what do you say, Ms. Everdeen?"
"Um…hello?"
"Well, I suppose that is a good start; you do not want to seem too presumptuous. Oh, dear; it looks like the young man who has walked up to you has lost his courage. What type of question might you ask him to put his mind at ease and to draw him into conversation?"
Katniss's mind went blank.
"Uh…Why are you dressed up as Effie Trinket?"
Giggles and chuckles filled the room, causing Katniss to scowl. She tried to cover up her discomfort by pasting on that ridiculous grin again, and Effie seemed to buy it.
"Well, your young man may find your attempt at humor amusing; let us give you the benefit of the doubt and say he laughs awkwardly. Then what would you ask?"
Are you facing the possibility of heading off to war soon or will you have the pleasure of anticipating the death of your father because he will soon be going off to war?"
"Isn't this a lovely evening for a party? It's not too hot, not too cold, and all you need is a light jacket." Katniss asked, proud of herself for coming up with such a delightfully vapid answer complete with what she hoped was a simpering smile.
"Why, yes, Ms. Everdeen; it is, in fact, a lovely evening for a party. Would you care to take a stroll with me?"
"…to the slag heap?" Katniss mentally finished for her.
"Um, sure."
"Come now, Ms. Everdeen; surely you can do better than that. And remember to keep that smile on! At this rate, you are never going to find yourself a husband."
"So, uh…your hair. I really like your hair. It's…nice."
"Yeah, well, I'm sorry I've been too preoccupied with survival and the idea of my 12-year-old brother going off to war to worry about snaring a husband."
The deafening silence smothered Katniss as she realized that she had said the wrong response out loud.
"Ms. Everdeen! I am trying my hardest to help you. I am all that stands between you and the caelebs, especially if you do not learn to control that unladylike mouth of yours. Besides, we do not even know if-"
"That's what I said to my father, too. That we didn't know for sure. Well, we knew for sure the next week—and the next month, when he didn't come home at all."
The bell rang, and Katniss soundlessly pivoted in the direction of the door and stalked away before she could give any more treasonous speeches that could get her turned into an Avox.
Gale removed the dead rabbit from the twitch-up snare, satisfaction at the plumpness of the rabbit flitting across his face as he placed the rabbit in his game bag. The winter had been as hard as winters always were in District 12, but the warmer May weather had certainly increased the quality of the prey he was catching. Catnip knew her way around a snare; her father had taught her the same way that his father had taught him. While Catnip was proficient with snares, she still got the majority of her kills with her father's bow.
Thoughts of Catnip filled Gale's mind as they so often did these days; he hated having to hide the way he felt, but he was not a snare man for nothing. In order to set up a snare, Gale first had to scout the area for the best place to put a snare. He had to find a sapling with enough bend in it to provide enough force for the snare without snapping the limb or uprooting the stake. Perhaps most importantly, he had to find an area that created a natural funnel that would guide the prey into the snare by process of elimination.
Catnip is not as good with snares as I am, not due to lack of skill, but because her hunting style is not suitable for snaring. She is reactionary, killing what is right in front of her. If she sees a squirrel running along the ground, she'll shoot it through the eye. Fresh deer tracks alert her to the presence of potential prey, so she silently stalks the deer and kills it at the end. She sees a flock of birds taking flight, so she shoots as many as she can before they're out of range. She loves that bow not only because it was her father's, but because it allows her to survive in the moment without needing to have any long-term plans.
Gale carefully examined all the parts of his snare, making sure that nothing had worn out or was in danger of failing when triggered. This particular snare was his most consistently productive due to the natural funnel that the piled-up brush and branches created. Any prey that walked this way would have only one choice if it wanted to quickly and easily get through the brush, and that way was through Gale's nearly invisible snare.
Even though Catnip is only 16 now, she'll be 18 and almost 19 before she knows it. Knowing Catnip like I do, I know she'll put off making any kind of marriage decision until she absolutely has to, especially since she's convinced herself that she is never going to fall in love, get married, or have children. She's still trying to fool herself into believing that she can get out of paying the caelebs and that she'll somehow magically find a way to support the three members of her family in addition to paying this—at least for Seam women—expensive tax. If I were to tell Catnip that I love her, that I've loved her for a while now, all I'll do is scare her away from the snare. But if I let the inevitable natural funnel of future events work in my favor, I can wait until the time is right and I can propose marriage as a friend. Surely when she thinks about being married to me versus the alternative…
The snare was not hard to reset, so Gale rejoined the notches and concealed the loop so that no animal would be likely to notice its presence. He always made sure that his snares were made so that undesirable animals were not caught in them; he rarely made a mistake in that regard. His goal was always to catch the right animal under the right circumstances and to do no harm to the rest—although if harm came to them in the course of his survival, he was not going to lose any sleep over them.
Gale smiled fondly as he thought of memories of his friendship with Catnip. Some might feel that his snare analogy was bad, that he wanted to trap Catnip so he could possess her. Of course, being Seam, he was used to being judged and misunderstood by the ignorant.
I would never try to cage or imprison Catnip. She shouldn't have to marry anyone she doesn't want to, and if there were a way I could fight back and make it so she never had to marry if she didn't want to, I would. No, by marrying Catnip, I wouldn't be trapping her; I'd be freeing her to be herself. Nobody understands Catnip like I do, and no other man has the guts to approach her fire. They're all scared of her, and none of them would be able to sneak up on her like I could, like I will. Catnip is too wary a hunter, too much of a woman for those little boys. Only I see her as she truly is, and only I could ever make her happy. Once she's married to me, she'll fall in love with me, and children will inevitably come after…
The sound of stomping feet interrupted his thoughts; the lovely subject of his musings kicked and cursed her way through the forest, making unusually loud noises for one who was normally so quiet in the woods. As his fire girl ranted about Effie Trinket and the caelebs and how she was never going to fall in love and get married and have children, Gale couldn't help but smile—but only on the inside, because he knew her father had trained her well. This realization sparked an idea, and before he knew it, he and Catnip were sparring using the basic techniques her father had taught her before he'd gone off to war years ago. And if Gale enjoyed the contact drills a little too much, who was going to judge him for it?
Katniss made her way to the square with the rest of the family, dread pooling in her stomach. Her mother had braided Katniss's hair and had laid out a blue dress that Katniss recognized as being from her mother's Merchant years. Sage was wearing his least-worn outfit and his hair was slicked back and firmly under control, unlike his shirttail, which was, as usual, untucked in the back. Attendance at the square for mandatory viewing was strongly encouraged for all District 12 residents and was thus announced three days in advance, so the Everdeens knew they had to attend even if they didn't want to.
Okay, so Sage wanted to; I'd rather grieve in private.
Gale's large frame stood out even in a crowd as large as this one, and all of his family was with him. With movements so familiar they were almost involuntary, Katniss walked over and stood next to Gale, Sage stood next to Rory, and Mrs. Everdeen stood next to Hazelle. With their similar coloring and features, Katniss could have easily blended in as a Hawthorne.
Of course, nobody who ever knew my father would fail to recognize me as his daughter.
Nervous chatter skittered all around Katniss, but she and Gale faced this situation with stony masks of silence. The large projector screens whirred to life, silencing the crowd. The hated visage of President Snow appeared on the screen and began reading the Treaty of the Treason. Katniss tuned out most of the reading as she pretty much knew the treaty by heart, but a few sections made her flinch.
"…as a result of their rebellion, the men of Panem will be required to surrender one male tribute 12 years of age or older whenever Panem is threatened…and through these men's courageous sacrifices, the districts will find redemption…No man from the Capitol ever need risk life and limb for Panem because of their loyalty to the nation…"
Snow finally finished his reading and did not mince words about the purpose of the mandatory viewing.
"Residents of Panem, I regret to inform you that the North is once again threating us with invasion. As a result of this pointless and bloodthirsty aggression, all family units are to submit one male tribute 12 years of age or older in two weeks' time. As is always the case, each traditional family unit must send one male tribute, and a man becomes his own family unit when he reaches 19 years of age. One male may volunteer for another male from a different family with the consent of both parents, and adopted males count towards the household in which they currently reside. Now please return to your residences and make this momentous decision. May the odds be ever in your favor."
I volunteer! Katniss wanted to scream. I volunteer as a tribute!
No words escaped her lips, though, and a strong arm wound its way around her shoulders and pulled her close. She looked up into Gale's anguished eyes, suddenly realizing what this announcement meant for him as head of his house. Katniss tried to feel guilty for not thinking about Gale going off to war sooner, but as always, only one thought consumed her mind.
Sage. What can I…I am going to make this right, Sage.
"I am going to make this right, Sage," Katniss said, wrenching out of Gale's grasp and whirling around to grab Sage's shoulders. "Do you understand me, Sage? I promise I am going to make this right. I swear."
Unable to bear the presence of other people any longer, Katniss ran for home so she could get out of her dress; she needed to go to her woods to work out a plan. She didn't care about risks or rules or anything but keeping Sage safe no matter what.
Trigger Warning: Verbal and physical abuse courtesy of Mrs. Mellark
Peeta had not been surprised at Snow's announcement; everyone had known that the mandatory viewing had been just a formality produced more with the aim of dispensing Capitol propaganda than actually giving anyone information. Still, nothing could have prepared Peeta for those awful words about going to war, especially because he knew there was a good chance he was going to lose two members of his family rather than one.
My oldest brother, Bran, will have to go as he is over 19 and married, Peeta thought as he tried to walk back to the bakery through the huge crowd gathered in the square. Dad will go as head of our house, leaving Mother, Rye, and I to run the bakery. The last war nearly destroyed Dad, and Mom…
The memory of what his father had been like after he had returned from the last war remained with Peeta; the war had broken Peeta's father, and his mother had been unable to cope with her husband's nightmares, irrational bouts of fear and nervousness, and inability to make fast decisions. She had taken her anger and frustration out on her sons, with Peeta getting the worst of the abuse due to his younger age and smaller size. He well remembered the first time his mother had beaten him; he had not regretted his actions that night while lying in bed, and he had never regretted them since.
An air of grief and sadness permeated District 12—and all of Panem, Peeta suspected—due to the absence of so many men and boys who had not come back from Snow's latest war against the North. Peeta was only 11, but he understood that many men would never return to 12 and that many families were going to have to adjust to the personal and financial loss of fathers and sons, of brothers and uncles. The Capitol gave the dead soldiers' families monthly allotments of grain and oil called tesserae, but from what Peeta had heard around town and at school, the low quality and quantity of the food made it insufficient for feeding most families.
His own father had been fortunate enough to return from the war, although the screams and thumps that frequently came from his parents' bedroom at night made him question exactly how lucky his father was. For all of his father's problems, however, the Mellarks still had food on the table, clothes on their backs, and a roof that housed their home and thriving business. Compared to many other families in District 12,the Mellarks were quite fortunate indeed.
The veterans had returned to their districts as autumn neared its end, and all of the problems created by the war were exacerbated by the worst winter in even the old-timers' memories. Even the most skilled hunters had not been able to find much game or gather many wild fruits or vegetables—or so Peeta had overheard a boy a couple of years older than him say to Father early one morning as he explained the lack of squirrels to trade for bread. His father, being the kind-hearted man that he still was in spite of all the war had done to him, still offered him a loaf, but the proud boy had refused such blatant charity.
A few days later, a bone-chilling, torrential rain fell, bathing the entire district in icy misery. The dampness from the downpour seemed to leech any thoughts or feelings of happiness from everyone, including Peeta's mother. Not that Peeta's mother needed an excuse to be angry, but the rain and the resulting lack of customers only worsened his mother's mood. As if his thoughts about his mother had summoned her, he heard her screeching at some "Seam brat" for daring to try to find food in their garbage.
Peeta would often wonder later if some sort of providence or fate had led him to look out the window that overlooked the pig pen and apple tree at just the right moment, but once he saw Katniss Everdeen starving to death beneath that tree, all he could think about was saving her somehow. He had been a goner for Katniss since he had heard her sing the Valley Song in school years ago, and he knew he would never be able to live with himself if he didn't do something.
The smell of nearly-finished bread registered in the back of his brain—and brought to mind a memory from his Uncle Wheaton's toasting. Peeta remembered the smell of lightly-burning bread as his uncle and soon-to-be aunt held pieces of toast near their fireplace in District 12's traditional marriage ceremony. He knew his mother would yell at him a lot if he had a sort of toasting of his own, but he knew that Katniss's death would hurt far worse than any punishment his mother could carry out.
He grasped two loaves in his hands and dropped them into the fire with a small smile on his lips that he quickly straightened out as he heard his mother's screeches. Peeta quickly pulled the loaves out of the fire before they could burn too severely, heedless of the pain the action caused to his hands. His mother ranted and raved about feeding the bread to the pigs and how useless Peeta was and how he should have been a girl anyway; when the rolling pin made contact with his face, he reeled back in shock at the unfamiliar sensation, but pictured the smile that would grace Katniss's face when he held the loaves out to her.
His father once told him that one of his commanders had said that no plan ever survives contact with the enemy, and Peeta's mother insisted on watching her son feed the first chunks of bread to the pigs. Peeta deliberately ripped off the most severely burned pieces of bread in hopes of being able to give the best of the loaves to Katniss; fortunately, Peeta's mother turned away and left him alone eventually.
Right before he was prepared to turn towards Katniss, Peeta remembered the Seam boy who had refused his father's charity. Peeta wanted so badly to gently hand Katniss the loaves, but he knew that she, like the boy, would likely turn away from charity. So he threw the loaves at her feet and walked away, even though he did not want to do so.
A few days later, a thin but alive Katniss turned up bright and early at the bakery's back door with squirrels for trade, and Peeta's bruises hurt a little less. Peeta's mother, however, continued to abuse him when she was angry or irritated, which happened quite frequently. While he would often contemplate fighting back the next time his mother hit him, he could never bring himself to raise a hand to his own mother. His father hated the abuse his wife heaped on their youngest son, but the war had taken away his father's ability to deal with conflict in any other way than running away.
Peeta's memories came to a halt as he realized that his feet had led him to the bakery without his mind paying attention to where he was going. The familiar sound of his mother yelling at his father assaulted his ears as he walked through the door; to Peeta's great surprise, his father actually yelled back at his mother. Morbidly intrigued by what his mother could possibly have said to actually make his father yell back at her, Peeta cautiously crept up to the door.
"Dammit, Macella!" Peeta's father yelled.
Peeta's eyes widened; he'd rarely heard his father call his mother by her first name, much less curse at her.
"You know I'm right, Barley!" Peeta's mother yelled back. "How long do you think you would last this time? You can't even bring yourself to discipline your own sons, much less kill someone else's. What are the odds that you could even make it through basic training?"
"So your solution would be to send one of our sons instead?"
Peeta's blue eyes widened as his mouth gaped open; he knew exactly who his mother would want to send.
"It's not like we can't run the bakery without them; in fact, we could probably get more done with one less moron ruining things. Besides, he was always supposed to be a girl anyway."
"What the hell, Mom?!" Rye yelled, pushing off from the doorframe against which he'd been leaning. "There's no way I'm going to let you send Peet into—"
"And what are you going to do about it, Rye?" their mother said, stalking up to him. "You're only 18. You're not a man yet. Not that you're ever likely to truly be a man, anyway, but age-wise, you still have a year to go. As your parents, we would have to sign off on your going to war in your father's place. Needless to say, that's not going to happen."
"But you're willing to send your youngest son into battle? If I'm not a man at 18, there's no way in hell Peet's a man at only 16. Let me go. I volunteer—"
Macella Mellark's smack echoed around the room, shocking everyone into silence.
"That's always your answer to everything, isn't it?" Rye said after a long pause, words dripping with contempt. "For too long, I've stood silently by while you abused Peet in the hope that you would change someday, that you'd go back to being our mother again. I know that nothing I say today will change anything; you're going to send Peeta off to war out of some twisted expectation that doing so will somehow make all your bitterness and resentment go away, and Dad's going to let it happen because he's too weak to stand up to you. But I hate you for what you've done today and will never forgive you. And if you ever lay a hand on either of us again, the result won't be the same as it's always been."
Rye Mellark spun on his heel and stalked out the door, and Peeta followed a few seconds later. He was still reeling in shock at the events of the past several minutes and knew he had to walk to clear his head. An image of Katniss Everdeen's stricken face upon hearing about the reaping came to him again, and he knew his current expression would have complemented Katniss's perfectly.
"And just how are you going to do that?" Mrs. Everdeen asked.
"I'll cut my hair short, bind my breasts, talk low…it's just fooling a few stupid Peacekeepers."
"And how long do you think that will work? How far do you expect to get?"
"Far enough to make sure Sage never has to go into combat."
"How are you going to get past the physical?"
"The what?"
Katniss's mother sat down at the table, weariness and resignation in her entire posture. She rested her head in her hands before looking at Katniss and hoping that what she would say next would help her stubborn daughter understand why she couldn't do what she was planning.
Although "planning" is a charitable way of putting it…
"A physical," she repeated. "Your father told me about some of the things he'd had to do over his years in the army, and he told me once about something called a 'physical.' Apparently, you have to take off all your clothes, submit to an examination, and give a little blood so you can be identified. Katniss, I know you want to protect Sage—we both do—but you are not the first person—the first woman—to want to try such a thing."
"Yeah, Mom, I've heard the stories, but…"
"They're not just stories, Katniss. My best friend…when we were your age, she wanted to volunteer for her little brother, too. Not only was he younger than her, but he also had a bad leg. She knew he would be lucky to make it through basic training, let alone combat, so she did all of those things you talked about."
"So what happened, Mom?" Katniss asked, sitting down at the table near her mother.
But with her hands planted firmly on the table so she can spring up and pounce on me if I anger her again…
"What we all expected to happen. She actually made a fairly convincing boy at first glance, and I'm not exactly sure what she did that gave her away…perhaps she actually got away with pretending to be a boy until her physical. Regardless, she never would have made it past the physical because she was obviously not a man underneath the clothes—or in her DNA, which would have identified her as 'Donner, Maysilee' rather than 'Donner. Marcus.'"
"I figured from your tone that she got caught; what actually happened?"
"What we all expected to happen," Mrs. Everdeen repeated, her voice heavy with sadness. "President Snow wanted to make an example of her, so he killed Maysilee, her family, and, to make a larger point, her boyfriend's family, leaving only the boyfriend behind."
And there she goes again…
Katniss sprang to her feet, anger pulsing off her in waves.
She is angry at Snow for killing my best friend's whole family and her boyfriend's besides. She is angry at Snow for killing her and Gale's fathers in one of his worthless wars. She is angry at Snow for endangering Sage and Gale and…
"I'm sorry—truly sorry—about your friend, Mom. But I can't stay here while Sage goes off to war and comes home in a box—if we're lucky."
"But he's a skilled healer. Maybe he won't be sent into combat."
"True. If he's lucky, he'll get made into a combat medic and will be expected to roam the battlefield looking for injured soldiers with nothing to defend himself with. Not that he'd likely be able to defend himself anyway; he can't even stand to watch me skin squirrels. He's nothing like me, and that's why he has to stay here with you."
"But if you get caught, Sage will be in danger."
"If Sage goes off to war, he's probably going to die, anyway. How many 12-year-olds do you know who have returned from war?"
"We could all die—"
"—either way," Katniss finished. "Look, Mom. In this terrible world Snow has created, we all stand a good chance of dying. Sage will likely die in war if he goes; if I don't die in war or from being caught trying to go to war, I'll likely die young in the mines. And you…if Sage dies, you're going to disappear again. You'll just go away into your mind again and I won't be able to reach you because I'm not Sage. You need her to survive, Mom. We both do. So let me go, Mom. I'll keep my head down, my voice down; I'll fool them all somehow. I'll come up with something like I always do. This is what Dad trained me for. You know it is."
"But who will feed us if you and Gale both go off to war?"
"We've been training Rory and Vick to hunt and trap, and they're not bad. Sage is an excellent gatherer; I'd swear the plants bloom up right in front of him when they sense him walking towards them. The bottom line is that one of us is likely to die no matter what happens because this is how Snow wants things to be. He wants to split families against one another from within, yet he forces families to stay together or pay the price—especially if you're a woman. If you're a man, you have the lucky privilege of dying in one of Snow's wars—and it's pretty much the worst-kept secret in all of Panem that Snow's always the aggressor rather than the North. No, Mom; I'm going to war because you need one of us in order to survive emotionally, and that person isn't me."
"That's not true, Katniss!" Sage said from the doorway, apparently finished tending Lady. "Mom, tell her it's not true!"
Oh, Arch; I miss you so much right now. You'd call me your "Lovely Lavender" and would know exactly how to deal with your daughter. You always did, and I never have…
"Mom! You can't let her go! I could learn to fight; I swear I can learn!"
"No, Little Duck," Katniss told Sage, embracing her brother. "I'm going to protect you like I always have, like Dad taught me to do."
"Don't you think I'm a little too old for that nickname? It's not very manly."
"I'll stop calling you 'Little Duck' when you learn to properly tuck in your shirt tail."
"Yes, Ms. Trinket," Sage said in Effie's exaggerated Capitol accent.
"You'll never be able to make this work," Mrs. Everdeen said, trying one more time to dissuade Katniss from what she recognized as the inevitable.
"I will," Katniss said firmly. "I will make this work. I'll disguise myself as a man, get Gale to watch my back, fight like Dad taught me to, and then come home and never have to leave again. I'll do what's necessary, but you'll have to fight, too, Mom. Do you hear me? I'm not going to be the only one fighting. You can't let yourself go away again; I won't be here to pull you out this time. And you, Sage; you'll have to gather more, okay? You and Mom will be fine, and I know the Hawthornes won't let you starve."
Mrs. Everdeen nodded her head to say she understood, but her son wrapped his arms around Katniss and looked her in the eye.
When did he grow so tall?
"But you have to stay strong, too. You're so fast and brave. Maybe you can be a Victor, or even a Mentor."
"I don't care about those things, Little Duck. All I care about is making it home to you, Mom, and District 12…but the odds aren't exactly in my favor, are they?"
"I don't care about those things either, Katniss. You will try to come home, though, won't you? Really, really try?"
"Really, really try," Katniss replied solemnly. "I swear it."
Mrs. Everdeen's shoulders slumped, and she knew that nothing she or Sage said would keep Katniss from volunteering for nearly certain death. When Katniss's mind was made up, nobody but her father—and even he had, on occasion, failed—could persuade her to change her mind.
She will get caught, and we will likely all die. Of course, had Sage gone off to war and died, the rest of us…That's why I'll not try to stop her: Because I know she is more like me than she thinks, and that without Sage…
Haymitch Abernathy staggered away from the Everdeens' cracked window in case anybody happened to be watching. Not that anyone was likely to be looking out of their windows on a night like tonight, and anyone who did happen to see him stumbling in the street would see what they always saw when he was nearby: Mentor Haymitch Abernathy, the drunken, pathetic Victor who tried to drown his sorrows in drink and who always had a scowl and a sarcastic remark for anyone who tried to talk to him.
He saw a shadow sitting on a nearby porch and took a pull from his bottle of white liquor, weaving a bit more than was necessary for good measure. While he could not honestly say that his drunkenness was all an act, he had learned long ago that people tended to overlook and underestimate the drunk buffoon—which was exactly how he wanted people to see him.
When he had begun his walk back to Victor's Village after the mandatory viewing, he had not planned on revisiting the place where he had grown up. The Capitol had changed his physical features, insisting that he looked better as a blond-haired, blue-eyed Merchant type, but that night, Haymitch had felt the desperate need to return to his roots. He had walked aimlessly down the street, bottle in hand, largely ignoring the sounds of sorrow and anger he had heard through the thin walls of the Seam houses.
Until I heard her voice.
Haymitch reached the outskirts of the Seam and slipped behind the last row of houses, tucking his bottle safely in his jacket. He expertly slipped under the fence, pleasantly surprised Snow hadn't ordered it turned on immediately to thwart potential deserters after revealing the good news to all of Panem. His gait evened out as he entered the woods; he felt the same relaxed tension he always felt when he knew he was illegally free.
The girl does this all the time, every day. I knew her father; we were friends growing up in the Seam. He was a good soldier, loyal to the end to his men if not entirely to his country. At first, I thought the girl sounded like any other whiny teenager crying about the unfairness of it all. I get it, Sweetheart, I really do. But then…
The memory of the way he had seen Katniss's chin raise and eyes blaze through the window had unnerved and excited him for reasons he could not identify. He could almost see Finnick trying to identify those reasons in some perverted way, but Haymitch knew that what he had seen in the girl had had nothing to do with sex.
Well, at least not for me. As far as some of those boys her age, especially that oldest Hawthorne…Now there's someone I'd love to have on our side. If the girl could provide the spark, then maybe that boy could fan the flames into a blaze that would consume all of Panem. Or maybe he would provide too much fire and we'd all burn, but at least the Capitol would burn with us…
Haymitch's ponderings ended as he reached a large rock that looked out over a lovely valley below. Of course, he couldn't see much of anything in the darkness, but the moon provided enough light for him to at least know where he was.
Well, the moon and lots of experience sneaking around in the dark.
Haymitch pulled out a flat, tablet-like device and stared at it for a few moments. He knew that convincing the others was going to take some doing, especially since they would likely not be inclined to see behind the girl's scowl and brusque manner at first. But he also knew one other important thing, the one factor that was likely to shift the odds in his favor.
We're desperate; they're desperate. I wasn't impressed at first, either; it wasn't until she slammed her hands down on the table and started talking about Snow, her sister, and survival. I've stayed alive this long because I've relied on my instincts, and right now, they're telling me…
Decision made, Haymitch laid his right hand flat against the screen of the device. The whirring sound it made told him the device was scanning his handprint; the muted chime told him that he had been identified as "Abernathy, Haymitch." He typed in several passwords and seemingly random combinations of numbers and symbols before being rewarded with a different chime that told him he was hopefully being connected to his contact.
"Shakespeare?" he said into the screen.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players," a masculine voice responded.
Haymitch rolled his eyes as his contact allowed an unnecessarily long and overly dramatic pause to stretch out into the darkness.
"Canary?" the voice finally said.
"I get so dizzy even walking in a straight line," Haymitch said impatiently.
He derived a perverse sense of satisfaction as he let a pause of his own draw out before cutting straight to the point.
"I think I've found her, Shakespeare. A girl worth fighting for."
A/N:
The caelebs tax derives from the ancient Roman concept of the Lex Papia Poppaea, which was made to strengthen marriage and boost the population. While "caelebs" should be pronounced "ˈkai-leps" in proper terms, as with many words, it evolved in general pronunciation to sound more phonetic; citizens of Panem would pronounce it "Calebs."
Katniss's response to Effie is a quote from "Miss Congeniality" by Miss Rhode Island.
For more about snares, go here and here.
"Shakespeare" stands, of course, for playwright William Shakespeare, and the quote is from "As You Like it." "Canary" and the quote are from the Police song "Canary in a Coalmine"; how this song is known in Panem is up to the reader to decide.